


But Wait, There's More!

by lavvyan



Series: But Wait, There's More! [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-15
Updated: 2007-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-17 13:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/pseuds/lavvyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Rodney McKay is a maligned scientist, kicked out of his cushy post at a leading university. When no other school will hire him, he falls back on his high school hobby--inventing simple items to help around the house. The problem is, his abrasive personality makes selling his brilliant inventions hard. Enter John Sheppard, king of late night infomercials. John's sure his good looks and charm can help sell Rodney's products, but first they'll have to sell John to Rodney...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	But Wait, There's More!

**Author's Note:**

> I know next to nothing about the production of television shows, let alone home shopping. And I'll admit I couldn't be bothered to do any in-depth research (I may have been a little close to the deadline when writing this *coughs*), so this is very likely to contain errors. Let's all pretend that in this alternate universe, TV production works that way.

When Rodney had walked away from his academic circles-

Well, no. When Rodney had been _unfairly kicked out of_ his academic circles because of differences in opinion with, oh, just about everyone, he'd never thought he'd find himself in the electronic retailing business. Rodney was to home shopping as most cats were to leashes: they didn't really work all that well together. However, he was also a scientist and therefore perfectly able to analyse a trend, and judging from the corresponding channels popping up left, right and center, home shopping wasn't just _a_ trend, it was _the_ trend. Besides, there was also the matter of Rodney's financial situation.

He wasn't exactly poor, but he also wasn't rich enough to spend the rest of his life watching TV and indulging the cat, not to mention that he really wasn't the type to just sit around doing nothing. So he needed a job, and when it became clear that no school or university or private research facility or government project would hire him, he'd figured he might as well fall back on his high school hobby and invent simple items to help around the house. He'd tinkered around now and then to distract himself from particularly stubborn equations, so there was a whole stack of little helpers stuffing his closet.

Besides, apart from theoretical astrophysical research and teaching, inventing was more or less all Rodney could do, and he was getting a little desperate. Not that he was about to admit that, even to himself.

Home shopping TV had seemed like the fastest way to ensure a regular income, but Rodney had early on run into an unexpected problem. Naturally, he had planned to introduce his inventions himself and not risk further humiliation by having some dim-witted would-be actor screw up their presentation. As Brian Cowen from Genii Industries Ltd. had put it, though, no one was going to risk a deal by putting a man in front of the cameras who had no prior experience in the electronic retailing business. Other companies had expressed very similar sentiments, occasionally also commenting on Rodney's somewhat abrasive personality.

Yet here he was, sitting in an obviously expensive visitor's chair, facing the CEO of PegasusTV. Dr. Weir was taller than he'd expected, slender, with reddish-brown hair that fell in slight curls just over her shoulders. She was attractive, if one liked the type – or women in general - and she was willing to give Rodney a chance.

Right now, she was flashing him a professional smile. "I took the liberty of having a proposal prepared. If you would like to take a look?"

Rodney nodded and she handed him a thin stack of papers. He skimmed the numbers. Shared production costs, dividing of profits according to sales, licensing of his patents for an allotted time, sales prognosis according to market developments over the last few years… the figures seemed solid, promising him a good sum of money over time. All for simply turning a hobby into a job.

Nodding again, Rodney carefully restacked the papers and handed them back to Dr. Weir, asking the question that was foremost on his mind. "And I will present my inventions myself?"

"Yes," Weir agreed, and Rodney barely suppressed a relieved grin, settling for a satisfied little smile instead. "Together with a partner."

What? Partner? Rodney's smile froze as he tried to process that startling bit of news. There had never been any talk of a partner. He didn't _want_ a partner. He was _bad_ with partners. Partners meant working harder to pick up their slack and watching one's tongue lest he wanted to be called 'petty, arrogant, and bad with people'. Rodney was a genius and had early on learned how to deal with insults, but even he had his limits. And he simply had to admit that he was awkward at best when it came to teamwork.

Except Dr. Weir, oblivious to Rodney's inner tumult, was already reaching for the intercom. "Laura, would you please send John in now?"

"Yes, Dr. Weir," the tinny voice of her secretary replied, and moments later, the door opened. Rodney turned, on the verge of hyperventilating, and nearly fell out of his chair when he saw who was entering: a slender man with dark, messy hair and a friendly smile, wearing a button-down shirt with blindingly bright purple-and-green swirls. Rodney had seen him before on home shopping television, usually clad in blindingly ugly sweaters and smiling cheerfully at his guests as he subtly insulted them without them ever noticing.

"Dr. Rodney McKay, John Sheppard," Weir introduced them, and Rodney rose mechanically to shake the proffered hand, brain running on autopilot. Sheppard's grip was firm without being painful, his hand warm and dry. As he sank back on the chair, the home shopping host sitting down next to him, Rodney wondered absent-mindedly if the man used talcum powder or something to make sure his hands weren't sweating. It seemed like something a professional might do.

"So you're the inventor."

Shaking himself from his stupor, Rodney turned to Weir. "The contract says nothing about a partner."

"The contract is a proposal," she reminded him, smiling and leaning back in her leather chair. "And if you're familiar with our program, you will have noticed that our licensed products are always presented by two people."

"Well, can't you make an exception?" Rodney asked, a little of his discomfort bleeding through. Working with a partner was bad enough, but being forced to collaborate with a smirking, colour-blind fashion victim was just cruel and unusual punishment for... he didn't know what.

"The Pegasus Home Shopping Network prides itself on its success through teamwork. Besides, John is the best-selling host in the business," Weir told him firmly, and Shepherd visibly preened.

"Well, it can't be because of his fashion sense," Rodney snapped before he could restrain himself. Shepherd shot him a surprised look, then he grinned.

"Says someone who wears a striped shirt over a chequered t-shirt."

"I'll have you know that this combination is perfectly acceptable in academic circles. Naturally, I don't presume you're familiar with those."

"Naturally," Shepherd echoed dryly, mouth already open to add something else, but he never got that far.

"Gentlemen," Dr. Weir interrupted them before the conversation could deteriorate any further. She looked at Rodney. "Dr. McKay, I'm afraid that this is the only deal I can offer. We will allow you to present your products yourself, but only with a partner."

Rodney gritted his teeth. This was the only job he'd been offered so far, and he needed it. He'd simply have to bite his tongue and refrain from provoking Shepherd any further; behave like a professional, he could do that. Being unjustly evicted from academia was bad enough, and Rodney wasn't about to throw an opportunity away just because his so-called partner-to-be had the fashion sense of a chimpanzee. And if he had to work with the alleged king of direct marketing to earn his due, fine, so be it.

"All right, fine." He was perfectly able to be the bigger man. Perhaps he could persuade Dr. Weir to let him work alone at a later point.

"Great." Weir stood up, and Rodney hastily did the same. "Dr. McKay, welcome to AtlantisCorp."

She reached out to shake his hand and he did, a little dazed, realising that after almost three months, he'd finally be working again.

"This is gonna be fun," Shepherd promised, clapping him heartily on the shoulder, and Rodney pulled a face. So his unwanted partner was of the touchy-feely kind, too. Figured.

This was going to be hell.

~~~

The studio was a lot smaller than Rodney had expected: almost tiny, with three monstrously large cameras set up around the waist-high counter that would be his presentation space. And Shepherd's.

Dr. Weir had decided that the first item they'd introduce in PegasusTV's brand new series 'McKay's Astonishingly Low-priced Products' – a title made up by junior production manager Ford, who in Rodney's opinion shouldn't be allowed to name anything, ever – would be one of Rodney's older inventions: the flat, triangular, fully automatic vacuum cleaner SpotBot. Judging by Rodney's own hatred of vacuum cleaning, the thing should sell just fine.

Now he was standing behind the counter, the SpotBot resting on top of it and Shepherd standing next to him, clad in tight blue jeans and a black zip-up shirt that made him look kind of… slinky. Hot, actually, and it was all Rodney could do not to stare. Rodney himself felt rather plain in his khakis and blue shirt, but Weir had told him to dress informally, and that was what he'd done. His hair had been styled so it was standing up a little, though nowhere near as messy as Shepherd's, and his face was itching beneath the make-up. And yet he was distracted by an entirely different problem.

"Uh, Mr. Shepherd-"

"It's Sheppard," the other man interrupted, finally stopping his fiddling with the low chair which had also been placed on the counter to be used for a demonstration later.

"Yes." Whatever.

"You can call me John," Sheppard went on, and Rodney refrained from rolling his eyes at the over-familiarity. Barely.

"Yes, well, I don't think so."

Sheppard shrugged, apparently not caring one way or the other. "Whatever stirs your coffee."

Rodney huffed and turned his attention back to the various people inspecting their equipment one final time before the broadcast started. They'd executed a dry run before to introduce Rodney to the chaos that was home shopping television, but he had to admit that despite his vast and glorious intellect, he hadn't entirely grasped everything. At least his first telecast would only last half an hour due to a sudden change in PegasusTV's schedule, which had less to do with Rodney's arrival and more with Parrish and Brown from 'Parrish & Brown's Brilliant Ideas for Orchards' trying to kill each other in the cafeteria over who was the real star of the show.

So the TV people had hurriedly explained their production process to Rodney, and Rodney had hurriedly briefed Sheppard and Weir on the SpotBot's particulars, and now here he was, on a Friday night two minutes before midnight, feeling utterly unprepared.

"McKay."

"What?"

Sheppard was looking at him, leaning casually against the counter as if to accentuate the line of his waist and the slight paunch of his stomach, one eyebrow raised. "You had a question."

"Uh. Yes." Rodney took a steadying breath, trying to convince himself that he wasn't nervous at all, and asked, "Which camera do I look at again?"

"That'd be number one." Sheppard pointed at the complicated construction in the middle. Rodney's fingers twitched with the urge to take it apart and see how it worked. "Keep your eyes on the little red light and you'll always know which camera is running."

"What little red light?"

"The little red light that isn't on yet."

"The level of your unhelpfulness is astounding, Sheppard," Rodney told him, and Sheppard nodded.

"It's a gift," he said earnestly, before he suddenly pushed away from the counter and stood up straight. "So. Ready to go?"

"Uh-" Not really. In fact, Rodney suddenly felt the near-irresistible urge to pee, or perhaps throw up, but the last few seconds were already being counted down with obscure hand movements, and then invisible speakers started to blare some truly horrible theme music. And then Rodney was on air, stared at by hundreds, possibly thousands of bored people who were sitting in front of their TV sets waiting for him to sell them something.

He froze.

His mouth was open but no sound was coming out while Sheppard blathered on about having one very special guest that night, the studio lights suddenly felt way too hot; he was this close to hyperventilating; and then Sheppard's fist lightly nudged his side as the other man leaned far into his personal space.

"Dr. McKay," he exclaimed brightly, grabbing Rodney's hand and shaking it. "It's my pleasure to welcome you to the amazing experience that is the Pegasus Home Shopping Network."

Sheppard stepped even closer, bringing his lips to Rodney's ear. "Just pretend it's a lecture," he whispered. "You _have_ lectured, haven't you?" He took a step back, grinning as if they'd just shared a private joke, and Rodney broke his wide-eyed stare at the camera with a blink. Lecture. Yes. He could do that.

"Ah, thank you, Mr. Sheppard," he straightened his shoulders and raised his chin, "I'm looking forward to the opportunity of working with you." Which was a complete and utter lie, and they both knew it. Sheppard's grin widened.

"So, what have you brought us?"

Rodney quickly described the basic capabilities of the SpotBot and why everyone should own one. Well, it was fully automatic and essentially cleaned whole rooms on its own – who wouldn't want that? It was also nearly silent, had a remote control, and came in three different colours.

"And further," he explained, "its triangular shape allows it to reach every corner of a room, a feat which the conventional round models have yet to achieve."

"I hear that Dirt Devil's currently trying to solve that with nanobots," Sheppard commented.

Rodney paused, momentarily derailed. "Really?"

"No." Sheppard smiled beatifically, and Rodney could have killed him. "So, Dr. McKay, you told us the SpotBot is rechargeable? How does that work?"

"Thank you for asking that question, Mr. Sheppard," Rodney gritted out. "In fact, the SpotBot automatically connects itself either to the nearest or a pre-programmed wall socket when its energy runs low."

"If it's fully automatic, why does it need a remote control?"

"Because some people," _have a pathological need to make their guests look stupid, you jerk,_ "prefer to have power over the order in which the SpotBot does its labour," Rodney explained, forcing himself to smile despite his rising irritation. "With its intuitive remote control, the SpotBot is easily directed wherever you wish it to go."

"This button here says 'ultrasound'." Sheppard picked up the remote control and held it into the camera, waggling his eyebrows. "Does the SpotBot have some additional features you haven't told us about yet, Dr. McKay?"

Rodney snapped. That patronising, self-aggrandising, insufferable son of a bitch. Trying to humiliate Dr. Rodney McKay, triple PhD. and certified genius? Oh, he'd show the man exactly what happened if he backed a brilliant scientist into a corner!

"Why, yes, Mr. Sheppard," he sing-songed, ignoring the challenging glint in Sheppard's eyes, "otherwise the show would be over with half an hour to spare." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the cameramen shake his head. Well, tough.

"I see they don't call you a genius for nothing."

"They really don't." Rodney raised his chin. "The SpotBot is made even more effective by its complex ultrasound system, which allows it to locate larger pieces of dirt, like crumbs or small stones."

"What, like a bat?" Sheppard made big, surprised eyes, like he didn't already know about nearly each of the SpotBots features.

"Yes. In fact, I also affectionately call it the BatBot. Ahaha." Rodney let out a fake little laugh that was just this side of condescending and earned him a tiny smirk from the other man. "Now, that's not everything. The SpotBot is truly superior to any common cleaning robot of its kind. If you'll allow me to demonstrate."

"Delighted."

Rodney pulled the low chair over from Sheppard's side of the counter and sprinkled it with the contents of a small bag of salt he'd kept in his pocket. Then he picked up the remote control and activated the SpotBot. The little machine purred quietly to life and after a moment, turned on its spot and extended a small hose, raising it to quickly and completely suck up the salt. It chimed when it was done and couldn't detect any more dirt in its immediate vicinity. After a countdown of five seconds, it shut itself off.

Sheppard smiled brightly at the camera again. "That's amazing, Dr. McKay," he chirped, "Can the SpotBot also reach higher places, like, say, the top of a wardrobe?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Sheppard," Rodney assured him cheerfully, "with a simple press of this button, the patented water-fuelled jet engines will activate, enabling the SpotBot to fly up and hold a stable position with its side thrusters while the hose disposes of any dust and small objects the sensors detect."

"Really?" Sheppard's eyes lit up with intrigue, and Rodney almost pitied him.

"No. Obviously, the SpotBot is a ground vehicle."

Sheppard's face fell, then he cocked his head and nodded ever so slightly. Point acknowledged. Rodney grinned.

Things rapidly went downhill from there, the two of them goading and ribbing each other until Rodney wasn't certain any more if they were fighting or flirting in a strangely aggressive way. Sheppard kept leaning and slouching as if his life depended on appearing as feline – and bendable, and Rodney cursed himself for having that thought – as humanly possible, and Rodney kept talking and gesturing and trying not to walk right into Sheppard's verbal traps. He didn't think he'd ever been so annoyed in his whole life.

He didn't think he'd ever had that much fun, either.

~~~

"What on earth were you thinking?" Dr. Weir demanded to know, glaring at both Rodney and Sheppard from her side of the desk.

"Come on, Elizabeth," Sheppard wheedled, his voice dripping with innocence, "he was nervous. I was just helping him to relax."

"Is that what they call it these days," she said dryly, turning to Rodney. "Dr. McKay, I understand that this was your first day, but this is not the performance I'm expecting of you."

Rodney nodded, eyes turned down, feeling guilty. He'd behaved unprofessionally, _again,_ and it'd be perfectly within her right to fire him. Rodney had followed Sheppard unquestioningly, and that wasn't the way things were supposed to go. Perhaps Cowen had been right. Perhaps a man with no experience at all, however brilliant, had no place in front of the camera.

"I apologise," he offered quietly, hoping that would be enough. Next to him, Sheppard went still.

"Apology accepted." Weir sighed, and shook her head. "I'm aware that you're both doing a stressful job. You want to keep it? Do better."

Again Rodney nodded, and obviously Sheppard did the same, because Weir folded her hands. "Good. That will be all."

Rodney and Sheppard left the office together, barely two steps from the closed door before Rodney turned to the other man. "This is all your fault!" he accused.

Sheppard raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "Hey, it was a good show."

"It was a disaster! _You_ might be the home shopping king, but _I_ really need this job!" Horrified, Rodney snapped his mouth shut. His situation was no one's business but his own, and really, it wasn't as desperate as his outburst had just made it sound. It was just… if academia in general didn't come around soon, Rodney might be stuck with this for a while. Just for a while, until he'd figured things out.

Something must have shown on his face, because Sheppard let his hands sink back to his sides, suddenly serious. "McKay. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

"Well, excuse me if my faith in someone I only met a few days ago is somewhat shaky," Rodney returned stiffly and left Sheppard standing in front of Weir's office.

He just wanted to go home.

~~~

Dinner – or probably breakfast, at three a.m. – was instant Ramen, a concept Rodney supported wholeheartedly. The TiVo had dutifully recorded the late-night infomercial, and Rodney settled down to watch, occasionally pushing the cat away from the steaming bowl.

Watching the show was like watching a car crash, with already knowing everyone involved would die a horrible, bloody death. But the high school drama club had taught Rodney that to improve one's performance one had to _know_ one's performance, and besides, he was no coward. He'd never watch that particular broadcast again, groaning as he watched himself stare at the camera like a mountain goat would gawk at an approaching avalanche, but he'd probably survive it once.

Besides, he looked good even in the unflattering light of the studio after finally closing his mouth. Smart. Distinguished. Like someone who'd eventually earn himself the Nobel Prize without any support from the so-called academic elite whatsoever. And the blue shirt really brought out his eyes, Rodney noted, nodding his approval.

Then Sheppard, looking flirty and mischievous, started talking about nanobots, and Rodney groaned, his good mood evaporating.

Hell. Fiery, undeserved hell.

~~~

He had to go in early on Monday for the infomercial for the LitterPal – the fully automatic cat litter box – and several other gadgets. Rodney's show was regularly set to last for an hour, which gave him and Sheppard the time to introduce about four inventions per broadcast. Having decided that he really didn't care what Sheppard was thinking about Rodney's fashion sense – which was perfectly fine, thank you – he'd opted for comfortable clothes: blue jeans that fit in all the right places but didn't pinch, and a white, red-striped shirt over a burgundy t-shirt. Rodney hadn't played dress-up when he'd still been high in the academic pecking order; he didn't intend to do so now only because he was on national television. Besides, he'd seen Sheppard's favourite TV sweater –Rodney didn't think he even owned anything that ugly.

The porter nodded at him as he pulled up the barrier. "Dr. Weir asked for you to see her first thing when you come in." He grinned jovially. "Sheppard, too. Must be important. Hey, I saw the show yesterday. Think it's got something to do with that?"

"Obviously, I wouldn't know that before I actually go in," Rodney replied and drove on, rolling his eyes. Why people kept thinking he was a clairvoyant, he'd never understand. Also, the show had been Friday night, not Sunday.

Weir's secretary cheerfully showed him to a small conference room when he arrived, and as he entered he found that Sheppard was already there, again wearing something black and tight, sitting opposite from a slender woman with bronze hair and a serene expression. Dr. Weir had taken the chair at the head of the conference table, several sheets of paper spread out before her.

"Dr. McKay, good morning." Weir smiled at him as he echoed her greeting and pretended he didn't see Sheppard's smirk. "Please, have a seat. This is Teyla Emmagan, one of AtlantisCorp.'s marketing strategists and among the best in the business." Yes, of course she was; this company had obviously made it a goal to employ only the best in the business, not that that was saying much since the business was _home shopping._ Well, at least they'd hired Rodney, he supposed that counted for something.

"Teyla, please continue," Dr. Weir said as soon as Rodney had slid into the seat next to Sheppard. Emmagan inclined her head.

"As I was saying, we are currently putting together a survey for PegasusTV's homepage. We will have to allow for a few days to show us a definite trend, but the reactions by phone so far have been very positive."

"How many have we sold so far?" Weir wanted to know.

"By half past seven this morning, the count was thirteen thousand eight-hundred and seventy-three SpotBots. The main audience seemed to be women, who also apparently called their friends to watch the reruns on Saturday and Sunday. There was a notable increase in sales after each rerun."

Rodney's jaw just about hit the table. "Thi- thirteen thousand SpotBots?" he echoed feebly, fearing he might pass out at Emmagan's encouraging smile.

"Closer to fourteen, Dr. McKay."

Sheppard dragged his chair closer and none-too-gently nudged Rodney's arm, grinning like a loon. "Told you I knew what I was doing."

Rodney was speechless. Thirteen thousand SpotBots! That was… that was incredible! Obviously, the small cleaning robot was a valuable addition to every household, but thirteen thousand after little more than two days! How was AtlantisCorp. even going to produce that amount? And there had been reruns? _Thirteen thousand SpotBots_!

Holy shit.

"So I'm guessing we're not changing a successful concept?" Sheppard asked, trying for innocent and not quite cutting it. From Weir's amused look, she'd also noticed. Rodney shook his head and tried to listen.

"No, we're not. You can keep helping Dr. McKay to relax," she answered, humour evident in her voice. Under normal circumstances, Rodney would have bristled, except he was beginning to suspect that he'd left normal circumstances with the porter.

"Our call centre employees have also reported that many customers asked them when the next show would be scheduled," Emmagan added.

Sheppard grinned. "Better get to it then." He winked at Weir, who gave him a long-suffering sigh.

"All right. Gentlemen, Teyla, don't let me keep you." Everyone rose, and Weir stacked her papers. "Oh, and John? Don't push it."

Sheppard threw her a sloppy salute and held the door open for Emmagan, who thanked him with a gentle nod as she walked out.

"Teyla." Weir hurried to catch up with her. "If you have a moment?"

The two women walked into her office together, talking quietly. Still holding the door, Sheppard raised an eyebrow at Rodney, who hadn't moved.

"You coming, McKay?"

Rodney looked at him. "Thirteen thousand SpotBots."

"Think you'll call me John now?" Sheppard asked with a grin.

That snapped Rodney out of his stupor. "What? No! And I don't need to be relaxed! I _am_ relaxed! No one has ever been as relaxed as I am! I love the camera and the camera loves me!"

Sheppard snorted. "Sure, Superman. Come on, can't leave the camera waiting." He cocked his head and smiled, a narrow gap between his tight black t-shirt and faded jeans revealing the gentle curve of his hipbone beneath soft-looking skin, and Rodney didn't know if he wanted to smother the man or jump him.

Halfway through the show, he had definitely decided on smothering. And no amount of slinking would save Sheppard. Not this time.

~~~

The recording of their 37th infomercial Rodney watched from the comfort of his couch, empty plate with the remains of the meatball-sauce from his spaghetti slowly drying on the coffee table. He'd been working for AtlantisCorp for a little over three months now, at three telecasts a week, his high school hobby earning him more money than he'd dared imagine. The SpotBot was a bestseller, as were the LitterPal and the DripStop. Whatever schematics he handed in were immediately turned into prototypes all set for serial production, and Dr. Weir strongly encouraged him to keep tinkering at home. So when he wasn't busy single-handedly advancing the field of theoretical wormhole astrophysics, he did just that.

There had been a first few tentative offers from several private schools and universities to employ Rodney in their physics programs. So far, he'd turned down everything. Why would he return to academia? The positions he'd been offered were middle management at best, teaching undergrads at worst, and he had no inclination to spend the rest of his career as a guppy swimming circles in a pond of mediocrity. His current job was less stressful and better paid than his previous one at the university; he had more time to concentrate on his research; he was receiving _fan letters_ gushing about his eyes, his arms, his hands, and strangely, his belly. He had even adapted to working alongside John Sheppard, whose new policy of dark, formfitting clothing had been met with widespread approval.

Sheppard, who was flashing the camera his most winning smile before he turned to the Rodney on screen, saying something about their invention of the day and squirrels, if Rodney remembered correctly. He wasn't going to turn the volume back up to find out.

TV-Sheppard patted TV-Rodney's back before trudging off to the side to fetch a particular gimmick, and Rodney briefly closed his eyes, remembering that touch. Sheppard kept flirting with him like they might make it an Olympic category and he was already training for gold. The man didn't seem like he had ever heard about the concept of personal space. Which was weird, actually, because Rodney had seen him avoid others with a grace that had to be born from a lifetime of practice. The flirting and touching wasn't limited to the show, either, so Rodney couldn't even brush it off as some incomprehensible strategy.

Sheppard probably didn't mean anything by it, though. In all likelihood, the man was secretly still pouting from Rodney's initial remark about his beloved sweater – which had apparently been a gift from his ex-wife, and could Rodney spell foot-in-mouth disease? – and had privately declared a weird kind of open season on one Dr. Rodney McKay. Not that Rodney minded, exactly. Sheppard's sarcastic brand of flirting always held something of a challenge; one they both enjoyed without talking about it.

Although Sheppard most likely didn't take his enjoyment quite as far as Rodney. He wouldn't make himself comfortable on his couch, tune in to the latest broadcast of their infomercial, and lazily cup himself through his pants. He wouldn't rub gently, wouldn't squeeze his balls with his fingertips and feel himself harden through the thick fabric of his jeans. No, Sheppard probably wouldn't do that. But Rodney did.

He watched TV-Sheppard laugh his fake little TV-laugh, his eyes fixed on Sheppard's mouth, his perfect teeth, the barely visible shape of his tongue. He wanted to capture that mouth, wanted to drive his tongue between those lips and reduce the ever-cocky man to a shivering bundle of nerve endings. His breath coming faster as he imagined how Sheppard's hips might buck against Rodney's own while his mouth was taken, Rodney carefully pulled down the zipper and tugged his erection out, shivering as the cool air of his living room met overheated skin. He started to stroke himself, slowly, lightly, willing to draw it out. He had time. He could make it last.

Except then TV-Sheppard licked his lips, round tip of a soft pink tongue sweeping out to moist sinfully full lips that now glistened wetly under the studio lights, and Rodney groaned, his hand speeding up almost involuntarily. That wasn't even part of Sheppard's game; that was a truly unconscious habit, and one that drove Rodney insane. No matter the time, no matter the place: Sheppard's tongue was there, flicking out and inevitably catching Rodney's eye, dragging his attention to Sheppard's lips, which led to stirrings in certain nether regions, which led to inappropriate thoughts of Sheppard's lips in relation to said nether regions, which led to Rodney inconspicuously adjusting himself and vowing never to look again.

But he never managed, and the thought of Sheppard ever realising the effect he had on Rodney was both frightening and hot as hell, because Rodney had already dreamed up several scenarios for that particular conversation, for how it might go down. How _Sheppard_ might go down, drawing Rodney out of his pants much like he was now, kissing him and licking him and sucking him down. Breath catching, Rodney circled his thumb over the slick tip of his cock, smearing pre-come as he rubbed the sensitive head until his hips jerked and his exhalations had become panting, shaky. He resumed stroking, squeezing and pulling at his erection, all thoughts of taking it slow gone from his mind. Now he just wanted to finish, watching himself, watching Sheppard.

On screen, Sheppard leaned close to TV-Rodney, said something and laughed, and Rodney remembered that, too; remembered the heat of Sheppard's body nearly plastered against his own; remembered the warm huff of Sheppard's breath; remembered how it had brushed over his neck. With a groan, he came, his cock twitching as he spilled his seed all over his hand and boxers, possibly ruining the couch as well. Which was also all Sheppard's fault.

Damn the man.

~~~

"How do you keep coming up with this stuff?" Sheppard wanted to know, turning the knife compartment of the EasyPeel in his hand. It looked like a light blue plastic ball, which was probably why it had caught his attention in the first place.

"Genius," Rodney replied succinctly as well as truthfully, and Sheppard laughed.

It was their 50th infomercial, live on air and going into its second hour as a special edition. To celebrate the occasion for their ever-growing number of fans – and it was still a little mind-boggling that home shopping salespeople would even _have_ fans – Rodney and Sheppard were presenting only previously unreleased items today. Sheppard was all excited about getting to play with so much new stuff, and it was becoming a little tiring.

Rodney reached out to snatch the knife compartment from Sheppard's hand and reinserted it into the EasyPeel. "As you can see," he told the cameras, "the EasyPeel is effortlessly taken apart and reassembled, so keeping the knife compartment clean can be easily accomplished. The knives themselves have a guaranteed life of two years, as does the laser unit. Nevertheless, if you purchase two EasyPeels now, you receive one knife compartment per item for free."

"Wow, that's quite a bargain, Rodney," Sheppard drawled. "What about the laser unit, is that detachable, too?"

"No. I don't want to tempt people like you."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "People like me?"

"Don't tell me you haven't thought of mishandling the unit to try and build a lightsaber, Sheppard," Rodney scoffed, and Sheppard twitched and looked away, coughing. Guilty as charged, not that Rodney was surprised. The man was constantly mocked by his colleagues for his collection of model fighter planes and possession of every Star Wars DVD ever released.

Sheppard had obviously caught himself and was now leaning against the counter in a practised slouch, looking for all the world as if he were in a bar instead of a television studio. "Aw, Rodney, you know me to well."

"You'd get that impression."

"Wanna get to know me even better?" Sheppard waggled his eyebrows and Rodney gaped at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Go on a date with me, Rodney."

Rodney choked on his own spit and felt his cheeks heat up with what no doubt was a truly magnificent flush. "But- you- what?" he stuttered, staring into Sheppard's oh-so innocent face.

"What?"

"You can't ask me that!"

"If I don't ask you, then how can you say yes?" Sheppard pointed out. "Say yes, Rodney."

Rodney shot a quick glance at the cameras. The cameramen were grinning, and he was certain that their audience at home were glued to their TV sets.

"Rodney," Sheppard prompted, and Rodney gave up before he had a stroke.

"All right, yes, fine. _Yes._ Now can we perhaps leave this conversational venue and instead perform the job we're paid for?"

"Sure." Sheppard aimed his most amicable smile first at Rodney, then at the cameras, but Rodney had seen the brief flash of triumph flickering across his features. "So, I believe we were just about to recap the EasyPeel's features for you. It's great: you just throw your potatoes or whatever you want peeled and the laser sensors map their size and form before the knives come into play. I tried the EasyPeel out myself, it works great with-"

Rodney spent the rest of the show in a dazed disbelief that a) Sheppard had asked him on a date, b) he'd agreed, and c) Sheppard had asked him _on air._ Sheppard had to have known that Rodney wouldn't dare to say no to him while they were broadcasting for fear of antagonising their fans who were rapidly developing an unhealthy obsession with their private lives, spamming the Pegasus-tv.com forums with their ridiculous blabber about Sheppard's unrequited crush and Rodney's cool aloofness. Rodney had been shamelessly manipulated, and he confronted Sheppard as soon as the telecast was over.

"You did that on purpose! You were planning to force me into saying yes!"

"Yes, I was," Sheppard admitted frankly, and Rodney triumphantly jabbed a finger at him.

"I knew it!" Then the meaning of Sheppard's words sank in. "Wait, you were? Why?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Gee, Rodney, I don't know. Maybe I wanted you to say yes?"

"But-" One would have to be an idiot to say no to this man, except it would probably be best not to say so, so Rodney switched tracks. "All right, Sheppard, since you appear to have this all planned out: where is this 'date' supposed to take place?"

"Rodney, you just agreed to go out with me. Call me John."

"All right, fine. _John._ Where do you want to go?"

"How about dinner? I know you can't eat citrus, so I scouted out this little Italian place that serves a mean lasagne, and I promise I'll keep the fish far away from you."

Huh. That sounded like Sheppard had already made the effort to find a restaurant they'd both enjoy, so Rodney hesitantly agreed. Then Sheppard strolled out of the studio, whistling, and Rodney was left staring after him, gaze involuntarily dropping to the man's ass. Sheppard had asked him, _Sheppard_ had asked _him_ on a date, all previous notions of heterosexuality apparently thrown out the window. Rodney had no idea how to explain that, except perhaps Sheppard had picked up on Rodney's staring at him when they weren't on camera. Perhaps he'd decided that leading Rodney on, seeing how far he could go, would be fun. It wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened.

Well, Sheppard might think that he was pulling a great joke, but Rodney would take advantage wherever he could, starting with having the other man pay for dinner on their date.

Wait a minute. He was going on a _date_ with _Sheppard_! Rodney felt the blood leave his face as the realisation finally hit, and he rushed to the closest toilet, where he spent the next twenty minutes quietly hyperventilating.

~~~

The 'date' – Rodney was still refusing to drop the imaginary air quotes – was going surprisingly well. Sheppard – _John;_ it was impossible to call a man whose nipples you could see through his thin white shirt by his last name – acted a little differently from his TV persona, quieter and smiling less, but when he did his smiles seemed honest, almost sweet. Rodney was surprised to find that he liked this display of a shyer side, and even if John still smirked plenty, he wasn't as sarcastic as usual somehow. More relaxed. It was… nice.

Of course, then John laughed and Rodney nearly spewed his beer across the table. John's TV laughter was a melodic chuckle; this sound however had a disturbing resemblance to a donkey serenading a foghorn. He stared and John winked at him, looking comfortable and smug and like he was honestly having a good time, even if his lasagne had been a bit dry in the middle.

Holy shit, this was a _date_!

"This is a date," Rodney blurted, and John raised and eyebrow.

"Why, yes, I believe that's what we agreed on," he drawled. "What did you think this was?"

"Um." Rodney squirmed, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "I, uh, I thought-"

"You thought this was a game," John said flatly.

"I didn't even know you were gay!" Rodney burst out, gesturing wildly.

"I can be gay if I want to."

"Hello, _ex-wife_?!" Rodney spluttered at John's petulant statement.

"So I'm bi. Same difference." John sighed. "Rodney, I'm not leading you on."

"Yes, I, uh, I realised that. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for…?" John asked a bit warily, and Rodney realised with a start that the other man wasn't sure if Rodney had only agreed to their date because he'd thought it wasn't serious in the first place, if perhaps Rodney was the one for whom all of this was merely a game. For all John knew, Rodney could be apologising for his assumption before he got up to leave.

John Sheppard, darling of home shopping television, insecure.

Wow.

There was really only one thing to say. "Sorry for being dense."

John leaned back on his chair, some of the tension leaving his face in favour of a tiny smirk. "Wow. That must have cost you."

"You have no idea," Rodney admitted, and just like that, everything was all right.

After dinner, Rodney had one espresso after another until he felt wired and a little shaky, but he couldn't help it. This restaurant was using the really good beans, and John cheerfully kept ordering the little cups, smiling bemusedly as he watched Rodney go nearly orgasmic over the beverage. Finally, their waiter – a huge, dreadlocked giant of a man – and apparent owner of the establishment, threw them out with a toothy grin and a threat of hidden knives aimed at John, who promptly wanted to know if said knives had been bought through home shopping. Rodney would go out on a limb and guess that those two knew each other. The waiter laughed and closed the door in their faces, and then John drove Rodney home, because, "I don't trust you not to jitter your way right off the road."

"You just want to know where I live," Rodney complained, and John laughed again. Rodney had to grin at the sound, and they shot each other a look, both of them smiling. It had been a good evening.

It took them barely fifteen minutes to get from the restaurant to Rodney's modest little house. Possibly because the streets were almost empty, but John's reckless driving might have also had something to do with that, Rodney thought, staring longingly at his front door, one hand still clutching the dashboard. He took a deep breath, then another, until he was sure he'd found his voice again, then he turned toward John and asked in what he thought was a remarkably calm voice, "Are you _insane_? I'm barely 35 and I haven't won the Nobel Prize yet and you want to _kill me_?"

"Relax, Rodney. I told you, I know what I'm doing."

"You have _no idea_ what you're doing most of the time!" Rodney protested. That man needn't think that Rodney didn't have him pegged. "As long as it's fun and you get to charm people, you just go right along with it!"

John grinned unrepentantly. "But you like that, don't you." It wasn't even a question. Still Rodney rolled his eyes.

"I'm here, aren't I? But next time, I'm driving." He reached for the belt buckle, only to find that his fingers were too shaky to press the release button. After he'd fumbled for a moment, John batted his hands away.

"Wait, let me-"

"No, I can-"

They both stilled at the same moment, staring down at their tangled fingers before they looked up. Rodney felt a flush heat his face as he met John's gaze, utterly fascinated by the strange combination of green and brown in the other man's eyes. Slowly, John leaned forward, gaze flicking down to Rodney's mouth. Rodney closed his eyes just before their lips met for a soft, unhurried kiss. His upper lip caught a little on the stubble above John's mouth, something that made them both sigh. Kissing John was nothing like Rodney had imagined it might be: slow, tender, surprisingly shy. Sweet, almost, and that, that was…

Rodney pulled back slightly, opening his eyes just in time to catch John licking his lips, own eyes still closed, and that was it, that was more than any man could possibly take. Reaching out to slide his hand behind John's neck he pulled him back in, pressing their mouths together with probably a little too much enthusiasm, but John just chuckled and parted his lips to sweep his tongue over Rodney's mouth with a playful flicker.

After that, things got very heated very quickly. If there hadn't been one of those damn storage spaces between them, Rodney might well have climbed into John's lap. As it was, they just clung to each other, chests pressed together, hands gliding over arms and backs and up again, breaths mingling in each other's mouths. The whole experience was one of the most sensual things that had ever happened to Rodney, and he had trouble believing that he could possibly have so much luck.

"Do you want to take this inside?" he asked breathlessly, already moving back in for another kiss, head swimming with John's warmth, John's scent, the feel of the smooth skin of John's neck under his fingers. His erection was straining against the fabric of his jeans, and he wanted, he wanted-

"Uh." John pulled back, not just a little but _away,_ licking his lips and clearing his throat as he settled back into the driver's seat. "Not really, no."

Rodney gaped at him. "What? Why?"

"I'm just not one of those girls," John drawled, looking ridiculously hot with his spit-slick, swollen lips and his slightly glazed eyes.

"I wouldn't think any less of you," Rodney assured him earnestly, trying to draw him closer again, and John huffed out a laugh.

"I know, Rodney." He shrugged again. "It's just not something I do."

With a sigh, Rodney gave up. "All right. Never let it be said I couldn't exercise a modicum of self-restraint when the situation calls for it." Even if he was going to jerk off the second the front door closed after him.

John nodded. "You're a very self-restrained guy."

"No reason to make fun of me, Mr. Temptation," Rodney sniffed, surreptitiously adjusting his jeans before he reached for the door handle.

"So, uh. See you tomorrow?" he asked once he'd gotten out of the car, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically insecure. What if John had been put off altogether by Rodney's aggressiveness? What if he was shocked and disgusted and never wanted to see Rodney ever again, let alone kiss him and eventually have sex?

"I'll pick you up," John promised lightly, leaning over to pull the passenger door shut before he drove off and left Rodney to shout after his disappearing tail lights, "Do you even live somewhere around here?"

He could have sworn he heard John laugh, but that was of course impossible.

~~~

"And that was 'McKay's Astonishingly Low-priced Products'. Thank you for tuning in, and remember: if it's not brilliant, it's not worth having."

"Whoever came up with that slogan should be shot," Rodney commented as the cameras rolled away from them, theme music already blaring.

"Ford?" John grinned, and Rodney rolled his eyes.

"I should have guessed."

"You should," John agreed solemnly, putting the ChemQuick back on the counter as the theme music died down. Rodney had been reminiscing about his college days and how his landlady had been in a constant state of paranoia, regularly dragging him into her kitchen and demanding to know if he could smell any gas. There had never been any leaks, but she'd usually cooked for him after he'd reassured her, so he hadn't complained. Much. So he'd invented an incredibly sensitive gas detector, to put it in layman's – John's – terms and had his sister advise him on how to make it look decorative, and just like that, PegasusTV had a new best-seller.

Rodney loved this job.

He left the studio together with John, both of them waving at Emmagan when they spotted her standing in front of the elevator. She smiled calmly as they approached.

"Teyla!" John greeted her, and the two of them exercised a complicated manoeuvre that wasn't quite a hug and obviously involved pressing their foreheads together. "How are my ratings?"

" _Our_ ratings," Rodney corrected him sourly, belatedly adding, "Uh, hello."

Emmagan inclined her head at him, then turned back to John with an impish smile on her face. "I am on my way to see Elizabeth about your ratings. You are welcome to accompany me."

John raised his hands and took a hasty step back, nearly stepping on Rodney's foot. "Thanks, I think I'll pass. I just remembered something else. Maybe next time."

As a rule, Teyla Emmagan didn't grin, but she seemed to be almost willing to make an exception for John. "I understand, John. I wish you a nice evening, then. You as well, Dr. McKay," she added as the elevator dinged open.

"Say hi to Elizabeth for me," John told her as she stepped into the small cabin and favoured them with another calm smile. Rodney waved vaguely and her smile broadened before the elevator doors slid closed again.

"Guess we'll take the next one down," John commented, then his face brightened. "Hey, you wanna go see a movie?"

"What, now?" Rodney asked incredulously, taken completely by surprise. He'd been planning to drive straight home, have some macaroni and cheese, and perhaps read a little in the latest edition of _Annalen der Physik._

"No, some time next month. Yes, Rodney, _now._ "

"Uh. What movie?" John threw him a dirty look, and Rodney hurried to agree, "Okay, yes, fine." If John wanted another date, Rodney was just about the last person to stand in his way. Who knew: this time, with a little luck he might even get somewhere.

"Cool." John bounced on the balls of his feet, shooting Rodney a smile that made the last of his irritation evaporate immediately, "I'll meet you outside."

He had no defences against the man, did he?

Still, Rodney refused to let John drive again, so they drove to the movie theatre in Rodney's slightly run-down but still perfectly adequate LeSabre. After at least ten minutes of careful consideration – of which at least eight were for show and just to drive Rodney insane with impatience, he had no doubt – John picked a movie that was set somewhere around World War II, explaining at Rodney's doubtful glance that he loved watching those old planes. They each got a giant bowl of popcorn and enough candy to last them two hours – and water, not soda, because after an unfortunate surprise with a supposedly citrus-free soda Rodney wasn't about to bet his life on a label – and then John chose a seat for them in the back of the theatre.

Which wasn't a seat so much as a couch, with no armrest between them, and Rodney resigned himself to spending the next two hours in a constant state of distraction.

He was right. Despite all his efforts to concentrate, Rodney couldn't have said what the movie was about, and if his life depended on it. John was slouching next to him, legs splayed so that their thighs were touching, leaving Rodney with the certain knowledge that only two layers of fabric were separating them. Over the course of the movie, John kind of kept inching further into Rodney's personal space, seemingly unintentional, until they were pressed together from ankle to shoulder. Every now and then, he would shift a little to reach for his popcorn, pressing even closer to Rodney, and it was like a truly fucked up combination of heaven and hell. John seemed to radiate heat through his thin black shirt, making it impossible for Rodney to ignore their closeness as the entire right half of his body was warmed by John's proximity. He wanted to reach out and place his hand on John's thigh, or perhaps slide his arm casually onto the backrest behind John's shoulders, only he wasn't sure whether or not that would make John inch away again. On the other hand, what if John was waiting for Rodney to take some action? What if he wanted to make out? What if he didn't? Heaven and hell, and if Rodney had to surreptitiously adjust the seat of his pants every once in a while because his body was reacting to John with a constant low-level arousal, it was probably nothing less than he deserved.

John, oblivious, spent the whole two hours sitting quietly beside him, a slight smile playing on his lips as he watched the old planes fly.

After the movie Rodney drove John back to PegasusTV where they loitered around in the parking lot between John's car and his own, talking and joking and grinning and somehow drifting closer and closer until Rodney couldn't take it any more. He grabbed John and stopped him mid-word by mashing their mouths together with admittedly little finesse, but he wasn't exactly thinking about technique right now. John made a small surprised _oof_ against his mouth but returned Rodney's kiss eagerly enough, and they finally, finally started making out. By then it was somewhere around 11.30 p.m., between shifts, and the parking lot was empty, silent except for the soft sounds of their breathing, their kissing. After an entire evening of waiting, Rodney was hard almost immediately, pressing closer to John as the kisses grew more heated, his hands sliding down to cup John's ass. Except John pulled away, _again,_ and Rodney blinked at him without comprehension.

"Still not one of those girls, McKay," John offered with a slight grin and a faintly apologetic shrug. He was panting, just a little, his lips a soft pink and his shirt slightly twisted, and Rodney had a hard time concentrating on his words instead of how badly he wanted to touch him, hold him, _have_ him, right now.

"You're not a girl at all," he pointed out helpfully, leaning in for another kiss, but John stopped him with a hand on his chest. Rodney looked down, staring at the splayed fingers, feeling their warmth seep through the shirt and heat his skin, and John cleared his throat as he not quite yanked his hand away. _Is it that repulsive to touch me?_

"Look, Rodney-"

"Yes, I know," Rodney interrupted him, "it's not something you do." He took a step back and adjusted his pants, not even bothering to hide how achingly hard he was. John winced sympathetically, looking dishevelled but composed, and in that moment Rodney resented him. At least a little. "Do you think you could perhaps explain _why_ it's not something you do? Because I'll have you know that usually, men aren't nearly this much work."

"It's just-" John shrugged helplessly, "I just need a little more time, okay?"

"Time," Rodney repeated stupidly, and John shrugged again, licking his lips.

"Yeah."

Rodney took a deep breath, willing his erection to go down and his brain to come back on-line in the face of John's nervousness. "All right," he said finally, letting out a small sigh when he saw John relax in obvious relief. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but wonder why John responded to his kisses so eagerly but pulled away as soon as it seemed that they might lead to something more.

"So, uh. See you tomorrow?" John wanted to know, unconsciously echoing Rodney's words from when their last date had ended in awkwardness. Rodney straightened, wondering when other people had started looking to him for emotional reassurance. Or perhaps that was just John.

"Yes. See you tomorrow."

~~~

Over the next two weeks, Rodney tried to give John the time he claimed to need, but his frustration kept building up. He wasn't the most patient of men even on his best days, and this waiting game John seemed to be playing – without any explanation beyond not being 'one of those girls, McKay,' – was driving him way past his endurance. He could respect John's strange hang-ups; really, he could… just, _how long_? And if John didn't want to be touched, then why kiss Rodney at all? Why not simply keep his distance and send a clear goddamn signal for once? All this hot-cold-yes-no-maybe-a-little had Rodney thoroughly confused, and he _hated_ feeling that way.

"Do you think you'll be 'one of those girls' any time soon?" Rodney wanted to know after their latest telecast, when it didn't seem that he and John would ever progress beyond having dinner together. "Because while I hate to admit it, I'm not all that good at dealing with physical discomfort, and I'd like to know how much worse it's likely to become."

"Developing a mild case of blue balls, Rodney?" John grinned, reaching for him, and Rodney spluttered as he took a step to the side, purposely ignoring the way John's face fell.

"Excuse me? Do you think this is, what, funny? I'll grant you that a relationship based on more than mere physical attraction does have its merits, but how long are you going to keep me waiting before I'm finally allowed to touch you?"

Because that was simply cruel and unusual punishment, being so close to someone as hot as John, and not being allowed to do anything but look and sometimes kiss. Rodney was a lot of things; a masochist, however, he was not.

"Talking about your feelings, McKay?" John drawled, his expression unreadable. "Want me to paint your nails next?"

"Hey! May I remind you that _you_ asked _me_ for a date, not the other way around!?" Rodney snapped, thoroughly fed up with John and his diva performance. "You wanted this!"

"I didn't ask for your hand in marriage, Rodney."

"But-"

"Later, McKay." And just like that, John left him standing in the hall. Rodney clenched his hands into fists and jutted out his chin, nearly shaking with frustration.

What the hell was wrong with that man?

~~~

In hindsight, Rodney should probably have felt at least a little suspicious when his phone rang displaying Genii Industries' number. As it was, though, he answered with a yawn and not the slightest inkling that his day was about to become very complicated.

"Dr. McKay," a rough voice greeted him, dripping joviality. Brian Cowen, Genii Industries' CEO. "I have to congratulate you on the success of your products, it seems."

"Yes," Rodney agreed coolly, sitting back down on his bed, "apparently, 'a man with no prior experience in the electronic retailing industry' can sell his inventions just fine."

"Ah, still smarting about that one, I see." Before Rodney could reply, Cowen went on, "I can admit when I was wrong, Dr. McKay. Perhaps we should talk about business one more time."

"I have a contract with AtlantisCorp." A contract he fully intended to keep, thank you. Weir and her PegasusTV had given him a chance when nobody else would, and Rodney wasn't about to forget that. People who called him an ungrateful bastard had simply never truly deserved his gratitude. In fact, Rodney prided himself on his loyalty.

"Oh, I'm aware of that. Whatever they pay you, Genii Industries offers you twice that amount. We'll also cover for a possible penalty."

Rodney blinked at the phone in his hand. Double the money, really? "I, uh… I'll have to think about that," he finally said hesitantly. Double the money. Huh.

"Of course," Cowen allowed graciously. "Just give me a call when you have reached your decision. Just remember, Dr. McKay: playing around with Atlantis might be fun, but Genii can make you rich."

With a click, Cowen was gone, and Rodney was left staring at his phone's mobile unit. Making him rich. That would… that would be really, really nice. The things he could do if he were rich… he could build his own research lab and fit it with only the latest equipment and the best and brightest minds his generation had to offer, like that Czech guy who recently seemed to be on to something if his articles were anything to go by. He could devote his entire time to research, thereby placing the Nobel Prize well within his reach. He could even make up his own prize: the McKay Prize for Outstanding Scientific Achievement! Rodney smiled dreamily as he imagined how incredibly _cool_ that would be, then his face fell as the word 'cool' reminded him that he couldn't just up and leave. Because, well, there was still the whole gratitude and loyalty thing, yes, but also a significantly more private matter.

Never mind his ties to AtlantisCorp. and the Pegasus Home Shopping Network – what about John?

~~~

Looking down on his plate, Rodney used his fork to place yet another pea on top of Mashed Potato Hill and absent-mindedly watched it roll down to hit the gravy with a tiny splash. The gravy was good. For that matter, so were the peas and the mashed potatoes and the meatloaf. PegasusTV's kitchen had a policy of highest quality ingredients only, and it showed, while the menus were still perfectly affordable. He wondered how the food at Genii Industries would be. Probably overcooked.

"Rodney."

"Hmm?" He looked up to find John watching him with a small frown.

"You've been distracted all day. Something wrong?"

"What? Oh," Rodney waved his hand, trying to appear unperturbed. "No, it's, uh, everything's fine."

They'd just made up again, after a tense apology from Rodney that John had accepted with a jerky nod. Rodney wasn't entirely sure what he'd been apologising for, but the point was that they had started dating again, no expectations, and the last thing he wanted was for John to feel under pressure. Their relationship was strained enough as it was, so the best course of action was probably to keep quiet about Cowen's phone call, keep it a secret. He'd figure things out on his own, somehow.

John's frown had deepened. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, okay, but don't-"

"Genii offered me double the money if I go to them," Rodney blurted, wincing a second later. Some secret-keeper he was. Thankfully, the small mess hall was mostly empty, so no one had heard him but John.

John, who seemed to have frozen on his chair. "The Genii guys are criminals," he said flatly.

"I know. Believe me, I'd have every contract vetted by a lawyer before I'd sign anything." _I'm just really not sure if I should go, and you're not asking me to stay. Shouldn't you be asking me to stay?_

"So what's the plan?" John asked instead, regarding him with a strangely closed-off expression.

"I don't know." Rodney raised his chin, hating the coarseness of his voice when he wanted to know, "Where are we standing, John?"

John just looked at him, his face betraying nothing of what he was thinking. Rodney waited, first for John to say something, then for any reaction at all as the seconds kept ticking by, the silence stretching between them until Rodney couldn't pretend any more.

"I see," he nodded, blinking rapidly as his voice cracked. He'd thought- Well, he didn't even know what he'd thought, what he could have possibly expected; he just knew that it hadn't been this. Trying to swallow his disappointment and nearly choking on it, he rose, not looking at John as he picked up his wallet and turned away. _Why did you even ask me on a date if you don't care?_ he didn't ask. The question wasn't worth the effort it would take to meet John's eyes again, and honestly, Rodney didn't really want to know.

He could feel John's gaze on his back as he walked to the door. No matter how he let his hand linger on the handle, though, John didn't call him back.

Rodney walked out.

~~~

"So what do you think?" Rodney asked the cat, lightly stroking his thumb over the bridge of her nose, "Atlantis or Genii?"

In lieu of an answer, the cat butted her head against Rodney's hand with a demanding meep. He smiled briefly as he scratched her neck. "Of course, you don't care who pays for your food as long as it keeps coming, right?"

The cat meeped again and he petted her affectionately. At least she let herself be touched.

Perhaps he should make a spreadsheet to help him sort out the pros and cons in his head. Atlantis had friendly people who actually seemed to like him, and John, which were pros. They also had insane working hours and a rather dim-witted engineering staff and John, which were cons. Two pros, three cons. Genii, on the other hand, had money and no John, which were pros. They also had people he didn't like and no morals to speak of and no John, which were cons. Two pros, three cons.

Rodney groaned, mournfully shaking his head at the mess he'd somehow gotten himself into without even noticing.

Atlantis or Genii?

~~~

He was studying fluid dynamics with Radek in their dorm room, writing red equations on blue paper. Kavanagh glared with a pinched expression down at his pad of yellow legal paper and drew thick circles with a green crayon. Radek and Rodney grinned at each other, students from two different sides of the world united in contempt for a moron, except Jeannie opened her mouth and said, _thump, thump, thump._

"Huh?" Rodney asked, gaping at her, and Jeannie rolled her eyes and repeated, _thump, thump, thump, thump._ "What?"

He looked at Radek but the Czech merely shrugged and flew out of the window, and then Rodney opened his eyes and blinked at the dark ceiling, a loud thudding sound still echoing through the house.

Someone was hammering against his front door.

Confused, Rodney turned his head toward the digital watch on his bedside table. 3:17 a.m., the slightly burred LCD informed him, and Rodney closed his eyes. That was far too early to get up and open the door for what would undoubtedly turn out to be a crazed junkie astrophysicist murderer anyway. He groaned as the hammering continued without giving the impression of stopping any time soon, first burying his head under his pillow, and when that didn't help, groggily getting to his feet.

"Pants... pants," he mumbled until he spotted a pair of black sweatpants hanging over the back of a chair, nearly hidden by a stack of physics journals. Pulling them on and marching to the door he grabbed a t-shirt, more as an afterthought and because the night air was cool on his sleep-warm skin than for matters of decency. If someone was insisting on dragging him out of bed at three in the morning, they had no claim on him following society's demands for decency.

The forceful knocking grew louder as Rodney padded through the house on bare feet, irritation growing until he finally reached the front door, yanking it open with a snarled, "What?!" that died in his throat when he saw who his nightly intruder was.

John, still wearing the same jeans and light blue shirt he'd had on the day before, was smelling faintly of beer. Fist still raised, he blinked at Rodney as if he had no idea what to do now the door was open. Rodney blinked back.

"John? What on Earth are you doing here?" Hadn't they just broken up a mere few hours ago?

That seemed to break John's spell of silence and he started to talk, faster than Rodney could remember ever hearing him talk before. "Look, I have no idea where we're standing, but God, Rodney…" he slurred, swaying slightly, "I mean, I'm terrible with this stuff and, you know. Sex. It's… It's just not… I don't like it all that much, okay, but I can… I just need to… and seriously, you won't be selling half as much without me so the Genii deal is just crap."

Of all the- "I know," Rodney said stupidly. "I, uh, already called Cowen to decline his offer."

"You have?"

Rodney snorted and felt his mouth twist into a sarcastic smile. "Yes. But it's nice to know you care." Which wasn't what he'd meant to say at all, except perhaps it was, a little. This constant up and down with John was exhausting, he was tired, and he just wanted to go back to bed and pull the blanket over his head and sleep until he felt awake enough again to understand what John was trying to tell him. "Listen-"

"No, I… Rodney." John took a deep breath and a step forward, his expression somewhere between scared and determined as he placed his hands on either side of Rodney's face and pulled him in. Rodney was too befuddled to do anything but obediently lean in, eyes fluttering closed as John kissed him. His mouth tasted vaguely of beer but still mostly familiar; like something Rodney would always want to come back to; like home. They both sighed and then groaned as the kiss grew firmer, more heated, sexual instead of sensual. Then somehow John's shirt had come off and Rodney's t-shirt was lying in an ochre puddle half on his left foot and John was fumbling with Rodney's sweatpants, and wait a minute.

"Okay, stop." Rodney grabbed John's wrists to still the insistent hands. The man probably didn't even realise what he was doing, where this was leading, drunk as he was. "You don't have to. I already said I was staying."

John licked his lips and shrugged. "Yeah. I think I'm staying, too." He looked embarrassed and shy and stubborn, and Rodney's heart rate picked up the pace.

"Are you-"

"Yes, Rodney," John interrupted him, "I'm sure."

"But you're-"

"I'm not drunk." John picked that moment to sway on his feet, and he shook his head as if to clear it. "Okay, I'm drunk, but I know what I'm doing. What we... Rodney," he added in a helpless little voice, and Rodney just about melted on the spot.

"You're gorgeous," he mumbled, letting go of John's wrists to run his hand up and down John's warm back, feeling muscle play under skin when John shivered slightly. "How could anyone not want to touch you?"

"That… that wasn't really the issue," John muttered, and Rodney belatedly realised that the faint tremble just then hadn't been born from pleasure. In fact, John was tense in his arms, breath coming shallow and fast, and when Rodney slowly ran his hand down to cup John's groin, there was no sign of an erection.

Jesus. "What, now I'm supposed to _rape you_?" he demanded, nearly stumbling over his feet as he jerked away. "Are you _insane_?"

"Rodney-"

" _No_!" Rodney yelled, not caring if he woke the entire neighbourhood if he could just get some sense into John's head. What the hell did the man think he was doing? "What the hell do you think you're doing? For that matter, what the hell do you think _I'm_ doing? You don't like sex and you're, you're," he gestured in the direction of John's groin, "you're not even hard, and _what do you think you're doing_?"

"I just-" John licked his lips. "Look, I, I care about... and I know you want to," a little swirl of his finger like that meant anything, "and I thought, how hard can it be, to, to-"

"-let yourself be raped?" Rodney finished flatly.

"Would you just stop with that word already?" John's voice was dripping with exasperation, and Rodney crossed his arms. "Look. I didn't ask you on a date to lead you on. I, uh, like you. Kind of a lot. It's just not-" John shrugged helplessly, "I really don't like being touched. People did that a lot when I was a kid, and I... don't like it."

"Then where do you think this is going?" Rodney wanted to know, arms falling to his sides as he sighed. He'd have to be spectacularly shallow to want John simply for his good looks, but at the same time, he just had to admit that he didn't have the patience for a platonic relationship. No matter how funny and sarcastic and dorky John might be or how well their personalities seemed to fit together, Rodney would always want to touch him.

"I like kissing you," John offered hesitantly, "We could work our way up from there?"

"I don't think that would be such a good idea." Rodney knew his luck. He'd end up traumatising John even more and then paying his therapy bills for the rest of their lives. But it was tempting. With John standing right there in front of him, looking dishevelled and hopeful, it was very, very tempting. Some part of Rodney would probably regret his altruism until he died or got Alzheimer's, but he was willing to act selflessly for once in his life. This wasn't about him. This was about John. "Perhaps we should-"

"Rodney," John interrupted him, perhaps sensing that Rodney was about to send him away. "I'm not some fragile flower. I'm not going to break. I just have some... issues, and I'm asking you to work them out with me."

"I'm no psychiatrist," Rodney replied, wavering. He wanted, oh, he wanted, but-

"But you're a genius," John said, flashing him his most winning TV smile. "And I trust you. We just need a little time."

The bastard knew exactly how to get to him. Rodney threw up his hands in defeat and John smirked at him, visibly relaxing as he stepped close enough again to pull Rodney into another kiss. This one was triumphant, claiming, anything but shy or hesitant in any way, and perhaps John was right. Perhaps this could really work.

Then John pulled back, rested his forehead against Rodney's and mumbled, "Let's go to bed," and Rodney knew that he was dealing with a madman, or at the very least an idiot, because _that_ was obviously progressing much faster than John was fit to deal with. _Again._

"John-"

"To sleep," John explained hastily, tripping over the words and smiling sheepishly. "You're tired, I'm drunk, and we both could use the break."

"So I'll call you a taxi," Rodney offered, mulishly raising his chin.

John sighed, putting his arms around Rodney's waist to hold him in a loose embrace. "I have to get used to touching you at some point," he muttered, kissing Rodney's cheek just underneath his eye, the bridge of his nose, his upper lip. "Let me handle this at my own pace, okay?"

Rodney shivered and took a deep breath, threatening somewhat shakily, "I swear to God, if you change your mind again I won't care how much Elizabeth likes you. I'm going to _eviscerate_ you."

"I won't." John looked at him, hazel eyes dark and beseeching, leaving Rodney utterly defenceless. "Trust me, I won't."

And with John lying next to him, body turned toward Rodney's without quite touching him, his breath warm on Rodney's shoulder, Rodney believed him. He closed his eyes, inching his hand closer to John's until their fingers were just brushing together, and fell asleep.

~~~

The next morning, Rodney awoke alone, the other side of the bed cold and empty. He pushed himself up on his elbows, searched the room for John's clothes and didn't find them, and let himself fall back into the pillow, closing his eyes. He couldn't even say he was surprised to find himself alone, but still he'd been hoping. Really, he should have known better.

It had been stupid, so stupid to give in to John. How many times had he heard, 'I'm not one of those girls, McKay'; how many times had John pulled away? But instead of remembering that, Rodney had taken advantage of John when the man had been intoxicated and in an obviously stressful situation, which was just depraved. Of course John would walk out, thoroughly disgusted and anxious to put as many miles as possible between himself and Rodney without leaving the general area.

Working together after this mess was going to be awkward, Rodney supposed. Perhaps he should hand in his notice and move away. There were still several offers in the private research sector that had arrived after the publishing of his latest article on Lorentzian wormholes. He could also accept the offer of the United States' government and move to Colorado, although he knew deep space telemetry to be painfully boring, but hey, that could be his punishment. Or he could withdraw from academia altogether and move to a desert island somewhere in the Caribbean, to be forgotten and eventually killed by a hurricane.

A wary voice from the kitchen interrupted his musings. "Ah, Rodney. Your coffee-maker has a tentacle wrapped around my wrist."

John.

John, who was in his kitchen, and not gone. Rodney blinked, and then his body relaxed all at once. John was still there, he though, smiling as he pulled the covers a little more tightly around his shoulders, suddenly ready to doze just a bit longer. John, sounding suspicious and a little tired and like he was smiling nevertheless, and wow, really? That was… remarkably nice, actually.

"Rodney, do you have- Shit, what the _hell_ is _that_?"

Something crashed, the cat let out a high-pitched squeal, and seconds later darted into the bedroom and under the bed. From the kitchen, John could be heard cursing loudly.

Rodney's smile widened. When he'd walked away from – been kicked out of, whatever – his academic circles, he'd never thought he'd find himself in the electronic retailing business, or with the king of home shopping as his boyfriend. He'd never thought that he'd find himself in a situation where he'd think of himself as happy.

Yet here he was.

**Author's Note:**

> For the anotheratlantis challenge on LJ.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Kill Them All!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/276827) by [schneefink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneefink/pseuds/schneefink)




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